


Dying from the exit wounds

by AutumnHobbit



Series: Dying from the exit wounds [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Brothers, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical language, Drabble, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, No Slash, One-Shot, au-ish, batfamily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8807914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnHobbit/pseuds/AutumnHobbit
Summary: "What do you want him to do?" Drake snapped. "Admit that he's a little bit worried about you because you fucking  died?" 
Damian was on his feet before he knew what happened. He couldn't breathe for the hate burning in his chest. How dare Drake talk about it. How dare he preach as though he agreed. "I'm surprised you pretend to give a  fuck,  Drake," he hissed, derision and bitterness dripping from the words. "I...I would have thought you were  happy I was gone!" 
 
  He didn't think about the words until after they left his mouth, after the Cave was deadly silent and the sentence echoed through the room, hung in the air like smoke. Drake's chest was heaving, but he didn't say a word, and his eyes were so dark that Damian actually took a step back in irrational fear. Abruptly, Drake shoved his chair back with a screech, and left without a word, his footsteps resounding through the cave. Damian watched him go, numb._____________Alternatively, Damian has misjudged Drake, and guilt isn't something he's used to dealing with.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Five days of constant writing later, and I don't even know where to begin with this thing, honestly.  
> Okay, so Damian and Tim's relationship is one of my favorites to think about, but not a lot of people talk about it or write about it, and I think that's partially because it *is* so confusing and complex. Due to Teen Titans #18, however, I really was thinking about the fact that Tim doesn't actually hate Damian and Damian doesn't actually hate Tim, and that Tim feels partially responsible for Damian's death. So that's kind of where this scenario came from.  
> This takes place in that murky timeline when Dick was presumed dead by the rest of the family. It is also probably a bit ooc and AU-ish because nothing like this would probably ever happen in the comics, so. As per usual for me, I was really pumped when I started writing this, but now I kinda don't know. As always, unbeta-d, so any mistakes are mine. If you have any squickiness for surgical/injury stuff or probable inaccurate medical information (I had a *lot* of WebMD pulled up), maybe steer clear. Title is from Exit Wounds by The Script.

"My answer is _no,_ Damian!" Father snapped, fixing him with a fiery glare, every inch Batman and not Father despite being out of uniform. "You are not going out until I deem you ready, and that is final. Do you understand?"

Damian gritted his teeth so hard he could hear them creaking. "Yes," he bit out hatefully, chest heaving in anger.

"Good. Go down to the Cave and train." Father said, looking away. "One hour, at least."

Hissing a particularly dirty curse in Arabic, Damian whirled and stalked from the room. He wanted to scream, wanted to punch something, could barely restrain himself from kicking the clock as he turned the time to 10:40, waiting impatiently for the stupid thing to rise.

Father was being illogical. He had never questioned Damian's capabilities since he had proven himself. True, his superpowers had faded--but he hadn't _had_ them to begin with as Robin. It was completely irrelevant to his ability to patrol, and Father knew it. So why was he being so asinine about it?

_Grayson would have let me patrol._ He clenched his fists at his sides at the thought, trying to stifle the burn in his eyes, the deep-seated pain in his chest that had nothing to do with the remnants of his injury. It didn't matter what Grayson would have done, because...because Grayson was...

By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, Damian was so furious and so perilously close to crying that he was already wired to explode regardless of who was waiting for him. And of course, who should be sitting there but Drake, minus his mask but in his uniform, on the computer--and Pennyworth, repairing Father's armor.

Damian promptly started the exchange off on the right note by kicking a rack of spare weapons to the floor with a terrific _crash!_ that echoed through the cave. Drake jumped a little, his head snapping towards Damian with an expression of surprise and irritation. Pennyworth didn't look up from his work. Batcow startled, and Damian felt slightly guilty for disturbing her. But that remorse was quickly squelched by the memory of his shouting match with Father.

"Breaking spare weapons and adding to my workload is not going to encourage your father to change his mind, Master Damian," Pennyworth observed dryly.

"My apologies, Pennyworth," Damian ground out, stiffly picking up the bo staffs and escrima sticks scattered across the rock floor and placing them on a nearby table.

"...He will relent eventually, Master Damian," Pennyworth said, a bit more kindly.

"I want him to relent _now!"_ Damian insisted hotly. "I have done nothing for weeks but sit around the Manor! He will not even let me attempt casework!" Damian sat down with a huff on one of the benches placed strategically around the cave. "He is being bull-headed, and I have grown tired of it."

"It's the right idea. He's just worried about you, Damian. He wouldn't do it if he didn't care," Drake cut in, still half-absorbed in the computer, and Damian felt hot rage in his chest, fueled by pure spite. "He lets _you_ go out," Damian bit out harshly.

That got Drake's attention. "What's that supposed to mean?" He frowned, turning to face Damian, some of the tension in his words showing on his face.

"He only doubts _my_ abilities. _You_ are still allowed to patrol. This has nothing to do with _care_ \--he allowed me to patrol before, and he lets you now." Damian was so angry he was running out of air to rant with.

"What do you want him to do?" Drake snapped. "Admit that he's a little bit worried about you because you fucking _died?"_

Damian was on his feet before he knew what happened. He couldn't breathe for the hate burning in his chest. How _dare_ Drake talk about it. How _dare_ he preach as though he _agreed._ "I'm surprised you pretend to give a _fuck,_ Drake," he hissed, derision and bitterness dripping from the words. "I...I would have thought you were _happy I was gone!"_

He didn't think about the words until after they left his mouth, after the Cave was deadly silent and the sentence echoed through the room, hung in the air like smoke. Drake's chest was heaving, but he didn't say a word, and his eyes were so dark that Damian actually took a step back in irrational fear. Abruptly, Drake shoved his chair back with a screech, and left without a word, his footsteps resounding through the cave. Damian watched him go, numb.

When his footsteps became inaudible, a sudden thundering shout made Damian jump. _"Master Damian!"_

Damian closed his eyes tightly. Damn. He'd forgotten Pennyworth was still here.

"Just what the bloody hell did you think you were doing?" Alfred demanded, and Damian flinched back. He couldn't remember the last time Pennyworth had shouted at him.

"I--"

A sudden alarm went off, the shrill blaring stinging Damian's ears. Pennyworth looked away towards the monitor, and Damian couldn't help but feel slightly relieved that his adopted grandfather's attention was being directed elsewhere.

Gordon's voice crackled through the speaker, tense as a wire. "There's been a breakout at Arkham. Not huge, but it's some of the worst ones and they killed five security guards and three cops."

Damian heard footsteps thundering closer and shot a glance towards the stairs. Father was entering the cave at a run--and Damian quickly looked away as Drake trailed after him.

"Did Joker get out?" Father asked, breathless and grim and _fearful,_ and Damian realized with a jolt that Todd was not at home at the moment. Fear coiled in his stomach. He tried desperately to ignore it.

"No." Damian let out a near-silent breath in relief. "I have Jay on the line with me right now. He's waiting for instructions on where to meet up."

"Who's out?" Drake asked. His voice sounded odd, empty. Damian chanced a hesitant glance at him. His face was blank, and his eyes were...red? He must have known Damian was looking at him, but he resolutely looked the other direction.

"As of now, Zsaz, Two Face, Ragdoll, Cluemaster, and Mad Hatter." Gordon reported tightly. "GCPD has a lead on Hatter, but the others are at large. They've been out for an hour, so there's a lot of ground to cover. And on top of all that, Black Mask's operation is moving. GCPD has gotten twenty calls from the residents on the edge of the financial district. Mask has closed off the entirety of their street, and he's shooting anyone who gets too close. GCPD hasn't been able to do anything."

Father glanced at Damian. "Suit up," he said tersely, his words clipped. "You're with me."

Damian swallowed, feeling a mixture of elation and dread. He'd wanted this...but maybe not this way. But this could be the only opportunity he would get.  
_Especially_ if Father learned of his spat with Drake. Damian held his breath as Father turned to Drake, his voice growing quieter. "I'm pairing you with Jay. Is that okay with you?"

Drake nodded mutely. Father eyed him suspiciously, but nodded and turned. "Alfred, I'm going to need my back-up suit."

___

Damian obeyed every command his father gave him to the letter, stayed within sight of him, took no unnecessary risks. They managed to help the police apprehend Hatter without any injuries, and as soon as Hatter was unconscious, bound, and en route back to Arkham, Father took off to Black Mask's location. Damian held on to the door handle as Father sped through the streets of Gotham in the Batmobile.

"Hood, report," Father said tersely, and Todd metallic voice answered. _"Red and I rounded up Cluemaster. We're in pursuit of Two-Face."_

"Be careful," Father instructed sternly, though Damian could see the worry in the clench of his jaw.

_"I was planning on it,"_ Todd said, too lightly. Father didn't answer.

Father parked the Batmobile a few blocks from the quarantined street. He caught Damian's shoulder as the boy tried to march off. "Robin. I need you to take out as many of the outlying men as you can. High stealth. The more you can disable now, the easier it will be to get at Mask."

Damian nodded quickly. "Of course, Batman." Father squeezed his shoulder before releasing him. He straightened and glanced at Damian once more. "Quiet and careful, Robin," he repeated, then took off and disappeared into the shadows.

Damian let out a silent breath, beginning the trek to the partitioned-off street. All the surrounding buildings were locked up tight, the doors and windows dark and eerily silent. Damian felt anger burning in his chest on behalf of all the people Mask had dragged into his mess. Clenching his fist, he crept closer. A block from the barricade, he saw a sentry; a lanky man in torn jeans and a dirty beanie who stank of cigarette smoke and carried a handgun at the ready. Damian held his breath and stepped silently forward, closer and closer until he was only inches from the man's back. He struck, seizing the man's carotid artery with his fingers and squeezing. The thug made a strangled sound, but went limp after a few moments of weak struggle. Damian eased him to the concrete, secured him with zip ties and dragged him away. He repeated the procedure the closer he got to the epicenter of Mask's operation.

Finally, he wound up on a wide street, lined with bright lights and in a flurry of activity. He hid in the shadows and observed carefully. There were common couriers--untrained and inexperienced--but there were far more hired mercenaries, who carried themselves fiercely and were clearly well versed in violence. Damian was suspicious. There were far too many trained grunts for this to be a coincidence. Still, he continued to knock out the occasional straggler, waiting for Father to make his move.

He had been perched on a dumpster for twenty minutes, building an ever-increasing pile of unconscious henchmen behind it, when a commotion started up on the street. Confused, Damian crept forward, peering out onto the road. There were henchmen running towards the barrier, armed heavily with machine guns. Concerned, Damian stepped back, wondering where Father was.

He heard a soft sound behind him, and he whirled, drawing his katana. It was quickly deflected and shoved back, and he stumbled in surprise, hissing a curse when he saw Drake standing there, panting and staring at him as if he'd never seen him before. "What are you doing!?" He whisper-shouted. "Your orders were to pursue Two-Face! Are you completely incompetent?"

Drake's face grew dark. "Shut up, Robin," he bit out. "I'm here because this is where Two-Face is headed."

Damian gaped. "What?"

At that instant, there was a terrific crash that shook the street and rattled the windows of the buildings around them. Damian shot a stunned gaze at Drake out of habit, and took off to the mouth of the alley, Drake on his heels. The barricade--made up of cars and trucks and crates and whatever mishmash Mask could come up with--was in flames, rubble spread everywhere.

"Where's Todd?" Damian breathed worriedly, to which Drake responded with a stunned "Don't know."

Damian opened his mouth to snap at Drake, but was interrupted by the roar of a vehicle--rapidly approaching _from the other direction._ He shared a panicked glance with Drake and took off running, trying to avoid being seen as the rumbling came closer and closer. The two of them ducked under a slight bit of cover behind the stone front steps of an apartment building, just as two large vans came barreling into the road. One came from an alleyway on the side Damian and Drake had been hunkered in, the other through the wreckage of the barricade. They skidded to a stop in the middle of the road, tires squealing. The sliding door on the back rolled open and men poured out. Two-Face was at the head, wielding a machine gun, himself.

Damian's eyes were wide, mind racing. Oh, this was _not_ good. Two-Face and Mask's hatred of each other was well-known, and with this much firepower...

"Come outta there, you metal-faced bastard!" Dent roared, and chaos exploded. Gunfire rang out from all angles, Two-Face's men firing on Mask's compound and Mask's men returning fire. Damian ducked as low to the ground as he could, Drake covering him slightly with his body. Damian was vaguely irritated at the older boy, but too busy fighting nerves to do anything about it as bullets rained down in all directions, glancing off buildings and fire escapes.

Suddenly, the firing grew even more heated, and Damian glanced up to see that Mask had emerged onto the roof of the compound. Two-Face was arranging his men on the ground, and they were concentrating on the rooftop. Damian could hear bullets pinging off the metal from here.

A whoosh rang through the air, and without any thought Damian dropped to the ground harder, Drake leaning over him by reflex. Another explosion shattered the night, and Damian raised his head to see half of Two-Face's force decimated, the ground littered with burnt and broken bodies, and Mask standing on top of the building, lowering a grenade launcher. Two-Face himself was completely exposed, only a few of his men remaining, so Dent took off running, back towards the vans...much too slowly. There was no way he'd make it out before Mask could get to him.

Damian was distracted from Dent's escape by the sudden appearance of Father from the compound, and Todd right behind him. Father took off after Two-Face, and Todd followed.  
_"Robin, Red, evacuate now."_ The radio fizzled to life with Father's tense voice for the first time in an hour, and Damian wondered if it had been jammed. That would explain Todd and Father's long silence. _"GCPD is on their way, this is going to turn into more of a bloodbath."_

"Understood," Damian panted, glancing around quickly. There were still haphazard shots being fired, but nothing too close or too intense. With a quick glance to ensure that Drake was still there, he took off running through the road, trying to get back towards the clear alleys and away from the road.

He only made it halfway across the street before a panicked shriek of _"Robin!"_ made him stagger, and sudden, crushing weight slammed  against his back, at the same time a series of deafening cracks rattled off from somewhere behind him. The collision with the pavement was violent and disorienting, and for a painful moment Damian's heart was in his throat and he expected the horrific jarring of a blade exiting his back, and his breath would not come.

But then he gulped in a shaky swallow of air, and the panic receded slightly, leaving the sharp edge of adrenaline as he lay, cheek pressed against rough asphalt. His eyes flew towards the men--who were still firing haphazardly, shrieking soundlessly for an unknown reason. He could not see Father or Todd. And that crushing weight was still resting on top of him, not moving. Damian grunted in frustration as he shifted in an attempt to roll over, his heart speeding up again at the hated sensation of being trapped. He finally managed to shove his way over to lie on his back--and froze when there was a familiar red uniform pressed against his face, confusion swimming through him. Father was nowhere nearby, and nor was Todd. Grayson was dead. That left...

_"...Drake?"_ he yelped, his voice high with disbelief--and something else he could not name. The older boy didn't move, didn't respond, and with a sudden chill Damian wondered if he was even breathing. Frantic now, Damian yanked his hands out from where they were pinned beneath himself and clumsily propped Drake up with one hand before quickly sliding out from under him and scrambling to his knees. He pulled himself up and rolled Drake onto his back. _Please don't be dead, please don't be dead,_ Damian begged in his mind, not knowing whom he was speaking to or why.

Drake's mouth was open, but there was no sound coming out. Damian scanned his body hurriedly with his eyes and his hand, trying to figure out what had happened. He had not seen anything, but...

Suddenly his glove was soaked all the way through with something hot and tacky, and he yanked his hand back as though he'd been burned. Swallowing hard, he leaned forward and tentatively touched Drake's uniform again; the right side of his chest, between his collarbone and his fourth rib, was _drenched_ with blood.

Damian could feel his breaths stuttering, coming too quickly, but not providing enough air. He remembered his mother, his teachers, telling him precisely where to stab or slash, demonstrating on slaves or disobedient footsoldiers. He remembered knives being pressed into his own hands, remembered the feeling of a life leaving a body beneath his bloody fingertips. He remembered the look in Drake's eyes when he had shoved him off the platform, the action that started all this years and years ago before everything, before...

There was a gloved hand cradling his chest, and he was being gently drawn back, away from Drake. A soft, filtered voice was in his ear. "Shhh, D, shhhh. It's okay. Let me look, buddy. You've gotta let me look at him." The hand released him, easing him to the asphalt only a few feet away, and Damian just hung there, slowly dropped onto the ground until he was looking at Drake at an angle, at Todd leaning over Drake, removing his gloves and yanking off his helmet as he leaned down and pressed two fingers to Drake's neck, pushed Drake's hair back from his eyes with the other hand. "Red. Red, hey, hang in there for me, buddy."

Todd's fingers flew from Drake's pulse, fumbled to his own ear, and Damian was beginning to suspect that he was in shock, because he could swear that Todd's hand shook. "B. B, get back here, now." His voice was taut, which Damian was used to, but hoarse and thick, and Damian blinked dumbly, unable to comprehend the scene before him. Todd's hand flew from his ear back to Drake's face, ran from his forehead down to his chin before suddenly flying away as he fumbled again. He was saying something, but Damian heard none of it. His gaze had strayed away from Todd and onto Drake's face, and he couldn't tear his eyes away. There was blood dribbling down Drake's face from his mouth, crimson droplets rolling down his cheek and dripping steadily onto the ground. Drake's bloody chest was shifting ever so slightly, seizing up and down in a repeated, half-realized movement. Damian heard a tiny, high sound that made him think of a dying animal. It took him a moment to realize the noise was coming from Tim.

Then suddenly Drake was gone, and Damian blinked dumbly, panic shooting through him as he glanced around wildly.

"Robin." The sharp call broke through the haze and his gaze snapped to Todd, who was standing up with Drake in his arms. "We need to go, _now."_

The firm command made Damian stagger to his feet, cross the short distance between himself and Todd and fist one shaking hand in the back of his leather jacket. Todd only hesitated long enough to see Damian beside him before taking off with long, rapid strides. Damian clung stupidly to the back of his jacket, feeling like a small child again, trailing after his mother while gripping her skirt. He did not know where they were going, but he ran to keep up, a single step of Todd's equal to four of his own. He was still fixated on Drake's wheezing breaths, quick but so shallow. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him, beginning to pant from the exertion of keeping up with Todd's pace. Todd was running uphill, and Damian followed, glancing around in confusion. They were running up the ramp into the plane. Damian had not heard or seen it arrive.

Todd was slowing to a stop in front of him, and Damian belatedly let go of his jacket. Brown--in full uniform minus her cowl--was running over, pushing a collapsible gurney. She skidded to a stop in front of them, and Todd carefully laid Drake out on his back in the stretcher. Brown raised the back of the gurney so that Drake was half-propped up, and quickly began pushing the gurney off. Todd tried to pull away, probably to fetch equipment, but was halted by Drake's sudden grip on his sleeve. Brown paused, and Todd leaned over the bed. Abruptly, the older boy removed Drake's mask. "Tim?"

Drake wheezed in response. Damian's blood ran cold at the harsh rasp, followed by a wet sound of pain. Todd was resting his hand on the side of Drake's head, trying vainly to get him to calm down. "Don't, Timmers. Just lie still, okay?"

"...D-Dami. Wh-where's--" Tim slurred faintly, choking in the middle of the word, and Damian's heart pounded in shock. Drake's bleary eyes were flitting back and forth wildly, half-open but frantic. His fingers were spasming on Todd's wrist, and before Damian knew what was happening his feet were carrying him forward, crowding himself between Todd and the gurney.

Drake's gaze landed on him, and Damian froze under the weight of those hazy grey eyes, shock and pain and _relief_ in them. Then those grey eyes rolled back into his skull and his entire body tensed up.

_"Shit,"_ Todd bit out, the word harsh but his hands gentle as he pulled Damian away from the gurney, shoved him lightly towards Brown. Brown pulled him back against her, scooped him up as though he were a toddler, and he would have snapped at her if he could speak, if his voice were working and if his eyes were not fixed on Drake and Todd. Todd was taking Drake's pulse again while leaning down and pressing his ear against the right side of Drake's chest. "Cass!" He called. "Put the plane on auto, I need the chest needle back here."

Cain instantly appeared from the cockpit, carrying a case along with her. She lowered gracefully onto her knees and flipped open the case, digging and then lifting a large syringe and a thick needle up towards Todd. Todd immediately started screwing the needle onto the syringe, while Cain quickly cut open the front of Drake's uniform and swabbed the skin of his chest with alcohol. Damian saw that a bloodstained square of adhesive gauze had been fixed over Drake's wound--Todd must have done it earlier, but Damian had no recollection of it. He glanced at Drake's face--his eyes were closed tightly, pain written across his features, his skin grayish and drenched with sweat, his lips blue. His breathing was labored and Damian could hear an odd whistling beneath his strangled gasps.

"Okay, Tim," Todd suddenly said, and Damian's attention snapped back to him. He was running his fingertips down Drake's ribcage, pressing lightly to his flesh. Feeling for a gap between his ribs. "I'm sorry, but this is definitely going to hurt." He kept his fingers on the spot between Drake's ribs while his other hand came up with the syringe, and without hesitation he jabbed the needle in. Tim went rigid. Brown's arm tightened painfully around Damian. Todd pulled back the plunger on the syringe, and hit a release on the end. Damian heard a soft hiss of air, and then Drake was sucking in a deep breath, sounding like he had just come up for air after nearly drowning.

Todd let out a sigh that nearly dwarfed Drake's, letting his shoulders slump for a split second before raising his head again. "Cass, help me get him  
on a chest drain, IV, and oxygen." He turned and ran off, Cain running in the opposite direction. Damian stared after Todd. His surroundings were swimming, and he furrowed a brow in irrational irritation at everything moving. He shoved at Brown's arm, still clamped tightly around his abdomen, holding him up.

"--D. Damian. Damian, hey, look at me." Brown's voice faded in like a radio, and Damian finally looked up at her--she had turned him around and lowered him onto his feet, and she was crouching to be at eye level with him. Her face was pained, the remains of tear-streaks running down her cheeks. It looked so _wrong_ on her that he stared.

"Dami? You're starting to scare me, kiddo." Brown was cupping his face almost uncomfortably tightly with her gloved hands. "Say something." She looked right in his eyes, searching him up and down for any sign of injury. The fear in her gaze was so irrational and _stupid_ when _Drake_ was the one lying less than four feet away and _dying_ \--

Damian's chest heaved, and a choked sound escaped him without his permission. He clamped his hands over his mouth, in a childish attempt to stop the sound from coming. He could feel Brown's hands probing him in earnest for injury, and he doubled over from the pain in his chest. Brown's arms went around him, and her hand was buried in his hair. "Damian! Dami, what is it?" She sounded frantic.

Damian wanted to scream at her. _Stop worrying about me, you imbecile, why does everyone have to be worried about me--_

He felt the slight jolt as the plane touched down, but he could do nothing in response but keep choking on sobs, and he hated it. Brown had stopped searching him for injury, and had pulled him flush against her, cradling him and rocking him. "Shh, Dami, shh," she crooned, rubbing his back. "It's okay. It's okay."

"It's _not!"_ he screeched hoarsely, without considering it fully.

"I know." Brown said, sounding unfazed by his outburst. She glanced up, and Damian shook against her. When she looked back down, she picked him up and hefted him against her hip, walking quickly down the ramp. Damian smelled the musty air of the cave, heard Titus barking. He lifted his head from Brown's shoulder and saw Titus dancing around the wheels of the gurney, barking more out of alarm and curiosity than viciousness. Cain seized him by his collar and gently tugged him back as Todd ran the gurney towards the med bay. Brown jogged lightly to keep up, ducking in after Todd.

Pennyworth was waiting in the room, already prepped. As soon as Todd brought the gurney to a stop, he unhooked the stethoscope hanging around his neck and pressed it to Drake's chest, listening carefully. He nodded in Todd's direction. "Wash up, Master Jason." Jason obediently turned, yanking off his jacket and tossing it onto a free gurney before washing his hands up to the elbow in the sink.

"Is it a through and through, Master Jason?" Pennyworth asked without looking up, examining the bandage on the exit wound in Drake's chest.

"Yeah, I checked before I moved him," Todd threw breathlessly over his shoulder, shutting the water off and drying his hands before grabbing a pair of gloves and joining Pennyworth next to Drake. Pennyworth glanced up once and quickly checked over Brown and Damian. "Is he injured, as well?" He nodded towards Damian.

"Not so far as I can tell," Brown responded hesitantly. "But he..."

_"Steph,"_ Gordon's voice crackled out of the loudspeaker. _"I need you back out, ASAP."_

Brown's head snapped towards the speaker. "O, I can't--"

_"I know you're worried about him, Steph, but there's still a city full of criminals out."_ Gordon cut the younger girl off. _"B's en route back to the Cave. You need to go."_

"But Alfred and Jay might need help!" Brown insisted hotly.

"Miss Stephanie, we'll manage between the two of us and Master Damian," Pennyworth said, nodding at Damian with knowing eyes.

Brown swallowed hard. She met Damian's eyes for an instant, and then pulled him tightly to her for a long moment, cradling his face against her throat. Finally, she set him on his feet on the floor. She yanked her cowl back up. "Take care of him, Alfred, Jay." She pleaded, swallowing hard. "Please."

"We will, Miss Stephanie," Pennyworth said, not looking up from where he was attaching Drake to a monitor.

"Be safe, Steph," Todd said, meeting Brown's eyes. They held each other's gaze for a long moment before Steph nodded gratefully and turned, running off to the plane.

"Master Damian." Damian snapped his head to the side. Pennyworth was eyeing him, with a look that was firm, but not without sympathy. "Please wash up. We will need another set of hands."

Damian almost ran across the room to the sink, stripping off his bloody gloves and scrubbing his hands clean as quickly as he could with scalding water. He dried them and crossed the room to stand beside Todd.

By this point, Drake had been hooked up to a heart monitor, pulse ox, an IV with saline and another with straight blood. An oxygen mask had been fitted over his nose and mouth. He seemed to have lost consciousness, because his expression was slack and he lay unnaturally still. But he was so pale that Damian could barely tell where his skin began and sheet ended, and he was still struggling to breathe.

"His blood pressure is lower than it should be," Pennyworth said, glancing at the monitors. "We'll need to assess the wound and see if there is an interior hemorrhage. Master Damian, please fetch suture gut. It's in the fourth drawer of the chest."

Without a word, Damian turned and crossed the room, dug through the chest. He grabbed a few packs in each size, and returned to the gurney. Pennyworth had carefully removed the adhesive from the edges of the dressing, and was arranging his tools on the adjustable table. "We'll have to move quickly; if too much air leaks into his chest, it will collapse his lung again." He shot a fierce gaze at Jason and Damian, who both met it with varying levels of anxiety. "Master Jason, adjust the light, please. Master Damian, have some gauze prepared." Upon seeing the both of them ready, he nodded, and then used a pair of forceps to gently peel back the bandage.

Blood immediately leaked from the wound, and Pennyworth nodded at Damian, who stepped forward and soaked up the blood as best he could with the gauze. As soon as he'd moved, Pennyworth resumed probing the wound with a scalpel. He pressed a little with the tip of the knife...and the blood pressure monitor started screeching. "Bloody hell," he growled, tossing the scalpel down. "Vascular clamps, Master Jason. Quickly."

Todd handed Pennyworth the clamps, and while the older man applied them to the artery in Drake's chest, Todd threaded a needle for him and handed it to him. Damian leaned over and mopped up the blood surrounding Pennyworth's work area, shivering at how cold Drake's skin was.

The monitors continued to blare, and Damian stood on his tiptoes to try and see what was going on. It was clear that there _was_ an internal hemorrhage, but...

He swallowed convulsively at the sight of Pennyworth stitching Drake's artery back together as it pulsed faintly, continuing to leak blood. Another monitor joined the cacophony. "Master Jason, increase the oxygen flow," Pennyworth said tightly, and Todd twisted the release on the tank. Damian glanced at Drake's face again. He was horribly pale; which said a lot, considering his fragile complexion. The oxygen mask was slightly fogged, but his breaths were so quiet Damian could not hear them over the noise of the machines.

Gulping, Damian glanced at Todd. But Todd wasn't currently assisting Pennyworth or hard at work on another task. He was staring at Tim's face, then at his chest. Damian wrinkled a brow. He supposed there were so many alarms going off that it would be easy to miss one, but surely there would be some warning if anything were truly wrong...?

He glanced at the oxygen levels monitor and nearly choked. The levels were beyond dangerously low. Damian felt like he was going to throw up. His gaze snapped back to Todd.

"Alfie, he's not breathing." Jason stated, voice unnaturally blank even as his hands rapidly removed the oxygen mask from Tim's face. Pennyworth snatched a container from a nearby shelf and unzipped it, underhand pitching a plastic mask and attachment to Todd. Todd caught it and strapped the mask to Drake's face, gently tilting his head back and compressing the plastic attachment and releasing it rhythmically to force air into his lungs.

"His pulse is still there but it's erratic," Pennyworth said. "If we can't get the artery stitched quickly, he'll go further into shock." _And he'll die,_ Damian heard beneath it, unspoken but seen in the tension in Pennyworth's hands and expression, in Jason's shoulders as his older brother continued compressing the bag.

And Damian? Damian had no idea what to do. Less than three hours ago he'd been arguing with Drake before patrol, as he'd done hundreds of times before. Now he was here alongside Todd and Pennyworth, trying desperately to keep Drake alive--and considering his general health, or the lack thereof--with an injury _this_ severe...there was no guarantee he'd live very long, even if they managed to close his artery.

Suddenly, the adrenaline that had kept Damian going through the past several hours--through the argument with Father, through the fight with Drake, through the Arkham breakout, through Drake shoving him to the concrete and collapsing on top of him, barely alive, through the flight back and the rushed surgery--gave out. He felt his legs giving way beneath him, and there was nothing to do but fall.

Except there were strong arms wrapped around him, solid and warm and gauntleted, but still oh so gentle. Father.

"Hypovolemic shock?" He dimly heard Father's deep voice rumble, tense and concerned. He knew that Todd responded, but he didn't understand any of it. There were more words exchanged as he was lifted. _'Replace that unit,'_ and _'take over'_ and _'take Damian.'_

"No," he moaned, reaching up and clinging to whomever was there. He thought there was someone there--he was clasping what felt like a wrist.

"Shhh, Dami." A gentle hand buried itself in his hair, stroked softly. For a long, wonderful, _awful_ moment, he could almost think it was Grayson. "I gotcha."

Damian clung to Todd's wrist and gave up.

____

Damian woke slowly. He was exhausted, and would have been perfectly content to continue drifting in unawareness, were it not for the irritation of his hands being held and his fingers being rubbed with something wet and cool.

He finally blinked his eyes open, glaring blearily around the room. He recognized it as his own bathroom. He was in the tub, leaned up against the side, his head and arms propped on the rim. He wore only a plain t-shirt and a pair of boxers. His cheek had been lying against his arm--the limb was now thoroughly asleep, and he cringed at the pins-and-needles sensation as he shifted it. And, last but not least, Todd's face was only a few inches from his own, as the older boy himself was crouching beside the tub, wiping Damian's hands with a washcloth. He was so close, Damian could see the faint scars etched in the corner of his mouth and in his neck, the sweep of his thick black eyelashes, the freckles faintly showing on the bridge of his nose.

"Tt." It was weak, but Damian was tired and grumpy.

"Hey, baby demon," Todd said nonchalantly, continuing to run the cloth down Damian's fingers, onto his knuckles, beneath his nails. "You have a good nap?"

"If the state of my neck is any indication, _no,_ I did not." Damian complained, testing his flexibility gingerly.

Todd made a quiet tsking sound and got up to wring out the cloth in the sink. Damian arched a brow at the red-tinged water that leaked from the rag.

_Drake._ The thought hit him like a thunderbolt, and he tried to climb to his feet--only to slip and barely manage to catch himself against the rim again, as he had forgotten he was in the tub.

Todd glanced back at the sound. "Oh no you don't," he said, turning and dropping beside the tub again, placing two firm but careful hands on Damian's shoulders. "What is it?"

"Drake," Damian said out loud, already nearly breathless. He glanced around stupidly, as if he expected the imbecile to be somewhere in the room. "Where's....is he--"

"Hey, hey." He looked back at Todd, fear swimming through him at the gentle, mild timbre of Todd's voice. Now that he was actually looking at Todd's expression, he looked...tired. _Exhausted,_ honestly. The older boy's thumb was rubbing circles in Damian's arm, as if Todd needed the contact as much as he thought Damian did. "Tim's...he's alive," he finally said, and Damian gave a tiny exhale in what he refused to call relief. "He made it through the night, at least." Todd's voice dipped as he sighed out that last part, and Damian fixed back on him.

"And?" He asked, because there was clearly an _'and'_ that Todd had left off.

Todd gave another sigh, but looked Damian right in the eyes. "He's...he's not doing so well, Dami."

Damian's heart pounded painfully against his ribs. "What...what the hell does that mean?" He demanded.

"It _means,"_ Todd said, voice raised over Damian's protests, "he's on a ventilator until his lung can heal up, but he started running a fever and his vitals are down a bit so far. It'll probably be three weeks at minimum before he'll be healed enough to function normally, and..." Todd swallowed, and Damian heard the unsaid _that's if he lives through the next few hours._

Damian gulped, glancing away from Todd's penetrating gaze and at the window. There was dim sunlight pouring through. He took a breath, trying to pull the tattered edges of his walls back together. He couldn't collapse now. Not when there were more important things to worry about. Not when Todd was carrying too much, already.

_Not when this was all his fault._

"Did...did Father get the breakout under control?" Damian finally managed to say.

Todd nodded. "He and the girls. Steph came back as soon as she could. She's taking the first shift with him. I'm supposed to go relieve her at eleven." Todd arched a brow critically at him. "You want to come with?"  
  
____

Damian trailed after Jason down to the cave. It was so still, only the echoing sounds of bats screeching and Batcow and Titus shifting resounding in Damian's ears.

"Where is Father?" Damian whispered, unsure of why he felt the need to be quiet.

"Commissioner Gordon needed help wrangling some of the crooks back into their cells." Todd's voice was soft, too. "I think he was looking for an opportunity for some payback, since there's nothing he can do here."

_He could be here,_ Damian thought, but said nothing.

Brown was slouched in a chair a couple feet from Drake's bedside, half-asleep. She started at the hissing sound from the door upon their entry. "Hey." She croaked sleepily, scrubbing a hand across her eyes.

"Hey, yourself," Jason said easily, pulling up another chair beside her. His voice dipped. "Any change?" 

Brown shook her head. "No." She shrugged. "He, um. His vitals are up a bit, but still less than normal."

Damian barely heard the rest of their conversation, staring fixedly at Drake. Pennyworth had clearly cleaned him up since last night--there was no more blood covering his face or his bare chest. But he was barely visible beneath all the machines hooked up to him, the most obvious being the tube fed down his throat that was forcing him to inhale and exhale. Damian knew he would have to be sedated for the duration of the time he was on the ventilator, but for some reason his heart still sank at the sight of Drake lying boneless and still in the gurney, eyes closed and lips tinged purple.

"--I have to go," Damian heard Brown saying, and he quickly glanced away from Drake towards the imbecile's ex-girlfriend. "I have classes...and my mom will wonder why I was gone so late." She glanced at Todd. "I _will_ have my secure phone, so _you call me_ if anything happens," she ordered fiercely.

Todd's lips curved up slightly in a rueful grin. "Yes ma'am." He gave a mock salute.

She made a face at him before glancing at Damian. "You alright today, Little D?"

Damian swallowed hard at the nickname, torn between wanting to snap at Brown or cry or run to Grayson. Except he couldn't run to Grayson, because Grayson was dead. He finally nodded faintly.

Brown gave him a sad smile, and paused beside him to ruffle his hair. She stepped carefully back to the gurney and leaned over to gently kiss Drake's cheek, whispering something so softly Damian couldn't hear it. Then she straightened, and with a final wave at Jason and Damian she left, the automatic door hissing closed behind her.

"...You wanna sit down? Sometime today?" Todd asked, sounding vaguely bemused, and Damian side-eyed him. He was patting the chair next to him that Brown had vacated, and Damian's cheeks colored when he realized he had been staring after Brown for quite a long while. He silently stepped over and slowly sat down next to Todd, feeling stiff and wrong in being there.

They were quiet for a very long while, nothing but the repetitive click, hiss, whine of the ventilator.

"....Damian?" Todd said, at length.

"What." Damian replied shortly.

There was a beat wherein it seemed that Todd was puzzling over what to say. "Are...are you okay?"

Startled, Damian glanced at the older boy. His brows climbed even higher when he saw that Todd was looking at him with genuine concern.

"Why the _hell_ does everyone keep asking _me_ if I'm okay!?" Damian burst out before he could stop himself, the sentence strangling at the end as his eyes snapped towards the gurney. Drake didn't stir. Of course he didn't. Useless.

"I don't know about _everyone,"_ Todd said dryly. _"I'm_ asking because you've barely moved a muscle since you sat down."

"Well, I'm _fine."_ Damian insisted hotly.

"Alright." Todd held his hands up in surrender. He turned back towards the gurney, while Damian looked anywhere but, fixating on a stalactite outside of the construction.

Todd heaved an exhausted sigh, running his hand through his messy hair. "Fuck, I really blew it last night." He muttered, almost to himself.

Damian looked at him, startled. "How is this your fault?" He asked incredulously.

"I shouldn't have run ahead with B and left you two on your own," Todd said, voice heavy with guilt. "It's a bad idea anyway, and with Tim out of sorts..." He trailed off after a glance at Damian, at the hurt that was apparently showing on his face despite his best efforts. "...I just shouldn't have done it. Hell." His voice dipped, and he rubbed at his face. "I should have stayed with you two. If I had, this wouldn't have happened."

Damian gulped shakily at the mere memory of the fight, at his lashed out _'I would have thought you were happy I was gone.'_ He shouldn't have said it, should have realized how much he hurt Drake, shouldn't have pushed, _shouldn't have gone out at all..._

And the last bit of Todd's statement made him shudder. The insinuation was clear; they would have been safe if Todd had been with them, because Todd would have dropped the man who shot at them without hesitation.

"You can't," Damian breathed before he could stop himself.

Todd glanced at him, startled. "What?"

"You _can't,_ you _can't_ go back to killing, Todd," Damian pleaded, grabbing at the older boy's hand. "Not now. It may be justified, but Father is... _Father,_ and I..." Damian swallowed hard. "I can't lose anyone else," he croaked squeakily, glancing away in shame.

"Oh hell, kid." Todd said remorsefully and reached for him, and Damian let himself be folded into Todd's warm arms, pressed against his broad chest. "I know you miss Dickie. I do, too. But all we've got is each other, now, and I can't help you if I don't know what's going on."

"I'm sorry," Damian choked.

"No, it's not your--Dami, I'm older, it's _my--"_

"No, no, it's my fault that _Drake_ \--" Damian sobbed, couldn't speak.

_"What?"_ Todd sounded horrified. "D, no, it's not..." He pulled away, and Damian tried to stifle a whimper at the loss of contact, but Todd was only easing him to arms length, so he could look him in the eye. "You don't think that. You can't think that this is your fault. _Please_ don't tell me you think that." Todd's eyes were red, and Damian choked on another sob.

"It _is_ my fault! I-I was trained my whole life to be aware of my surroundings, but I let him shove me and take that bullet, and I didn't even know the man was there, a-and I fought with Drake and I--" Damian was wailing now. "I just wanted Robin back. It's-it's _all I have left,_ but now it'll cost me _another brother, too_ \--" And Damian was weeping, truly weeping, because last night he'd finally accepted the conclusion that he'd come to a long time before, but had refused to let himself believe. He _didn't_ hate Drake. He didn't hate him, and he didn't want him to _die._ And especially not because of _him._

"Shhhh, Dami," Todd murmured, crushing Damian against his chest, now, curling a hand around the back of his skull. "Shhh. This isn't your fault. This is not your fault at all."

Damian continued to weep, soaking the front of Jason's shirt, choking on his own breath from the force of his sobs. He hated this. Mother would have had him beaten for a breakdown like this. He was weak.  Weak since he came to Gotham, weak since he died. Weak since he started caring, but even weaker before. But the worst part of all of it was the knowledge that no matter how much he grew emotionally--or whatever stupidity Grayson would have said this was--Drake could still die, and it would _still_ be on his account. It _was_ still on his account. Todd continued to hold him, to talk quietly--and more than a little wetly, himself. Damian didn't hear most of it, but he was grateful, nonetheless.

Finally, his sobs faded to occasional hiccups, and though the tears kept coming they were slower now, quieter. Todd eased him back a little.

"Listen to me, Damian. Tim _chose_ to shield you, okay? That was his choice, and he believes you're worth it. I would have done the same thing." Todd hesitated. "Well, actually I probably would have shot the bastard, but you get the point." He shook Damian lightly for emphasis. "Blaming yourself _will not_ make him better. You get that?"

Damian tried to take a breath without it stuttering...with mixed results. He nodded.

"Good." Todd pulled him in for another quick hug, and Damian clung tightly to his shirt. "Look at us, hugging and being emotionally vulnerable and everything. Dick would be proud," Jason said, wryly but sadly.

Damian swallowed. "Todd?" He asked hoarsely.

"Yeah?"

"W-why? Why did Drake do it?"

Jason pulled back, looking confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Damian floundered, uncertain of what he was trying to say. "I--he could have...he didn't have to...he didn't have to get _hurt._ Why did he..." _Care so much?_

Todd sighed, glancing at the silent figure on the gurney. "I...well, it's complicated, Dami, and I don't know all of it." He fixed Damian with a look. "I was out of commission when you died, you know."

"I want to know," Damian insisted, swallowing bile at the memory of lying on the pavement in front of Wayne Tower, cold and scared and unable to breathe and hurting more than he ever had in his life.

Jason sighed, looking at the floor. "All I know is that Dick told me that Bruce tried to...well, _I_ knew that he--" Todd sighed. He began again, in a slightly tighter tone. "When you died, Bruce refused to accept it. Mainly because, since I came back, he knew he didn't _have_ to; it was possible for someone to come back from the dead. He just didn't know how. So, he..." Todd's breath shook a little bit, "he started working with me again, and I felt so guilty over your death and was so exhausted after being targeted by Joker again that I fell for it. He took me back to the Magada Valley."

Damian's eyes grew wide. "The place where you died?"

Todd nodded miserably. "He told me he deserved the chance to watch you grow up. And I think he does...now, at least." He swallowed hard, his eyes wet again. "At the time I just felt worse than when I'd died. I didn't understand that part of it was his lingering guilt over my death, as well. I felt like it was just another way I didn't matter as much as the rest of you did."

Damian couldn't believe what he was hearing. Father had dragged Todd _back to the site of his own death?_ For _Damian?_ It sounded so wrong--it _was_ so wrong, and the pain in Todd's eyes was just another weight on Damian's chest. "Todd," he breathed, "I'm so--"

"It's not your fault, Damian." Todd sighed without malice, without heat. "You had nothing to do with it. But the point is, he did something similar to Tim." Jason averted his eyes from Damian's desperate gaze. "Tim...didn't take your death well in the first place. Alfie told me he found him alone in the cave after your funeral, just crying."

Damian's jaw dropped. He didn't want to look at Drake's still face--it felt like a horrible invasion of privacy to have to hear of his breakdown while witnessing the results of it--but he couldn't help himself. He hadn't been lying earlier; he _had_ honestly thought that Drake hated him, finally accepted it as a fact he would have to work around. To hear that he had been upset was...startling. Todd was still speaking, so Damian focused on him again.

"At one point, he went after Frankenstein. I guess he was trying to figure out what scientific properties kept him alive past death or some bullshit like that, but the bottom line is that he captured him and experimented on him. Tim took issue with it, and he threw out the results of the experiment. Bruce was...pretty pissed. And of course Tim didn't deserve his anger on top of everything else, and Bruce totally deserved it, but..." Todd sighed. "Tim was just heartsick over the whole thing. And then a while later Dick got unmasked, and..." Todd's voice broke.

Damian grimaced in sympathy. He snatched Todd's hand. "You don't have to tell me anymore, Todd," he said earnestly. "You've done enough as it is. Thank you."

Todd gave him a weak smile, squeezing his hand with his larger one. "You're welcome, Dami."

"You should go get some sleep," Damian said, after a bit of quiet. "I shall sit with him until Cain and Father return."

Todd side-eyed him. "You sure?"

"Yes," Damian responded resolutely.

Todd hesitated, then sighed heavily. "Alright," he gave in, leaning forward and brushing Drake's bangs back from his face. He bent over and pressed his lips lightly to Drake's forehead, humming noncommittally. "Still running a fever." He caught Damian staring and colored, shrugging. "What? S'what my mom used to do."

Damian shrugged, stifling a smile. "Nothing," he said wryly.

"Brat," Jason said fondly as he stood up, stretching until his spine creaked loudly. "Call me if you have any problems."

"I'm not a child, Todd," Damian said without heat, more out of habit than anything. Todd gave him a faint grin before leaving the room and heading back up to the house.

Damian gave a shaky sigh, and turned to glance at Drake's unconscious form again. It occurred to him that this was the first time they'd been alone together since Drake was shot--thirty hours ago, according to Damian's watch.

Since they _were_ alone, Damian saw no harm in speaking his mind. He moved his chair a bit closer to the gurney and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm..." He swallowed hard, feeling stupid but too guilty to care, words spilling out quickly and nonsensically. "I'm sorry, Drake. I'm sorry Father was cruel to you, I'm sorry you blamed yourself, I'm sorry I tried to kill you, I--" He blinked rapidly, sick of crying, voice dipping. "I'm sorry I _fought_ with you. I just...I just really expected you would have my back in going back to patrol, because I believed you hated me. I'm sorry I didn't see that wasn't true."

Damian laid his arms on the rail of the gurney, laid his head face-down atop his arms. "I'm sorry, Drake," he croaked again, blinking heavily. "Now you have to wake up and forgive me. That's how Grayson said it's supposed to work."

___

Father and Cain came in some time later. Damian knew because Father's gauntleted hands gently lifted him off of Drake's bed and the chair. He gazed blearily up at his father, wanting to be angry at him over the new revelations from Jason but finding himself unable.   Father gave him a warm look, rested a hand on top of his head. "Bedtime, Damian. Way past it, actually."

"Drake?" He slurred sleepily, trying to shift his head to look.

"Is stable," Father told him, at the same time Damian's eyes lit upon Drake, still limp in the gurney, and Cain sitting beside him, holding his hand.

"He's safe," Cain said, gentle but serious, glancing at Damian with a calculating eye. "Sleep, baby."

"I am not a baby," Damian automatically corrected, shutting his eyes and leaning his cheek against Father's chest.

"Are to me," Cain said, and Damian gave a weak _'tt.'_ Father chuckled, and Damian fell asleep again to the rocking motion of being carried up the stairs.  
  
___

The next few days, as Todd put it, sucked. Drake was practically comatose the entire time, his vitals constantly fluctuating, improving and then declining with seemingly no clear pattern. Damian hated it, but insisted on taking shifts alongside the others, and Father allowed him--apparently confused by, but glad for, Damian's sudden concern for his adopted elder brother.

But finally, _finally,_ Drake's vitals held steady for longer than eight hours, and Pennyworth decided to try weaning him off the ventilator. They did it very slowly, monitoring him constantly, but he stayed stable through the whole thing, and so was downgraded to a nasal cannula to supply extra oxygen to aid his breathing. The absence of the ventilator removed the need for sedatives--though he was still on heavy painkillers and running a fever--so Pennyworth also began the process of weaning him off the sedatives, which would take the entirety of another day, perhaps longer.

It drove Damian nearly mad.

"What about the perpetrators?" Damian asked at breakfast.

"Already found, interrogated, and incarcerated, Damian, and they _have been_ since the day of the breakout, and you _know_ that they have been since the day of the breakout." Father said tiredly, not looking up from his newspaper. "You are not going out to beat up criminals just because you're antsy."

_Rich words coming from him,_ Damian thought angrily, huffing and turning away. Todd shot him a sympathetic look.

"...Healing takes time, Damian," Father said after a beat, kinder. "Tim will recover eventually. It's just taking him a while."

"Tt." Damian scoffed.

"An injury of that severity would take _me_ at least two months to completely heal from," Todd added helpfully.

At that, Father dropped the newspaper, fixing Todd with a hard stare. "And just _how_ would you know that for certain, Jay?"

Todd's eyes were huge as he realized his mistake. "Ehehehehe. Uh, bye." He ducked out of the kitchen quickly.

Damian shook his head, Todd's antics drawing a slight smirk out of him. Father got up and followed him, muttering something about _"Why doesn't he ever tell me when he gets hurt."_

Damian trailed down to the cave, watching as Pennyworth gave Drake his latest dosage of painkillers and antibiotics. Drake was still unconscious, and Damian was beginning to get heartily sick of it.

"He should be waking up soon, Master Damian," Pennyworth assured him, patting Drake's hand without the IV. "It will take awhile for the sedatives to process out of his system."

Damian tt'ed again, sitting back and folding his arms. "Everyone's saying that," he complained.

"Perhaps because it's true, Master Damian," Pennyworth remarked dryly, squeezing Damian's shoulder before leaving. Damian sighed, settling in for another long shift. He drew his phone from his pocket, starting up an insipid but vaguely entertaining game Grayson had forced him to download months ago.

He had been demolishing boars for an uncertain amount of time when a soft sound made him pause, glance up from his phone. Drake's eyelashes were moving, his face slightly drawn in pain and his fingers twitching on the sheet.

Damian was on his feet in an instant, heart pounding, but uncertain of what to do. He glanced around wildly--the cave was empty, and Pennyworth had just left. He fumbled with his phone, scrolling through his contacts to find Pennyworth.

A low moan interrupted him, and he glanced up to see sweat beading on Drake's forehead, his eyes clenched shut. He writhed slightly.

Damian crept closer hesitantly, eyeing his brother cautiously. "...Drake?" He asked quietly, trying to squelch the hope in his chest.

Drake stilled at the word, and Damian forced himself to stay silent as the older boy struggled a bit longer. His grey eyes finally fluttered open, hazy and pained and _off._ He gazed blearily around the room. When his eyes landed on Damian, however, his expression shifted to a mix of sorrow and horror.

"Damian." He breathed hoarsely, barely audible, his eyes sliding closed after exhaling the name.

"...Yes." Damian stated, uncertain of what was going on.

"You--" Drake seemed to run out of air with the one word, had to draw another labored breath before he could continue. "You don't h've t' stay."

Damian was confused. "I...I wanted to." He finally said.

At that, Drake's face crumpled, and _tears_ swam in his eyes. Damian panicked, opened his mouth, but Tim choked out a breathy "I'm _sorry,"_ before Damian could. It stopped Damian in his tracks.

"What...what for?" Damian gaped.

"I'm sorry I didn't--" Drake panted, voice rising slightly in his agitation. "--didn't try to save you. I heard you. I heard the Heretic, but I didn't...didn't _try_ to escape, I thought you'd be _alright,_ I never thought--" Drake broke off, wheezed.

"Stop," Damian whispered brokenly.

_"I can't."_ Drake's lips pressed together as he swallowed, his grey eyes watery. "I can't stop _thinking_ about it, and I tried. I _tried,_ but you keep coming back."

Damian was crying again, and he had no idea why.

"I stopped Bruce." Drake whimpered earnestly, nodding desperately at Damian, like he was confessing a sin to him. "I did. He was mad, and I thought maybe I...maybe I should have let him. It was wrong, but I." Tears streaked down Drake's cheeks. "I missed you. I _wanted_ to. I'm sorry, Dami. I'm sorry I didn't let him," Drake sobbed, gasping a little from the pain the movement caused him.

"Drake, stop." Damian reached for him, grabbed his hand and held it tightly. It was freezing cold and trembling faintly. "It's alright. I forgive you. I'm sorry, too."

At the feeling of Damian grasping his hand, Drake's eyes blinked open again, flitting down to where their hands were locked. He glanced back towards Damian's face, and Damian almost believed his eyes were a little clearer.

"Dami?" Drake whispered, hope in his voice.

Damian nodded. "It's me, Drake. I'm here."

Drake's eyes held his for a moment before they slowly slipped shut. "You...you alr'ght?" Drake was clearly weakening, the words barely audible as the tension in his body loosened slowly.

Damian squeezed his hand and swallowed hard. "I am, Drake. I am."  
  
___

The next time Drake woke--over _five hours later_ \--the room was considerably more crowded, because Damian had informed the family that he'd woken up for a bit, which resulted in a mass return to the cave from all over the city. In hindsight, it probably would have been a better idea to make everyone wait outside rather than all cramming into the medbay at once, but it had the positive side effect of waking Drake up, and he seemed to be a bit better this time, more aware. He opened his eyes to slits. Damian, feeling oddly shy and nervous, stepped behind Father and Todd, placing himself at the back of the group, but glancing between his family members to watch what Drake did. Drake saw all six pairs of eyes suddenly on him, and groaned squeakily, closing them again.

Shooting them all a stern look, Pennyworth stepped forward and lightly placed a hand on Drake's arm. "Master Tim?"

"Hey, Alf'e," he croaked, eyes closed, and Pennyworth smiled. "Why's s'so loud?"

"That would be due to the lack of discretion from your siblings," Pennyworth said dryly. "How do you feel?"

Tim hummed. "Like 've been hit by a truck."

"Unsurprising, considering the circumstances," Pennyworth tutted sympathetically. "You have about forty minutes until your next dose of painkillers, I'm afraid."

Tim nodded shortly. "S'okay, Alfred," he mumbled. "I'll be f'ne. D'n't worry bout me."

Alfred sighed. "It's a bit too late for that, young sir." But he placed a hand on Drake's forehead, and Drake blinked open his eyes and smiled faintly up at the butler. With a gentle pat to Tim's forehead, Alfred stepped aside and allowed Jason and Steph to push forward.

"Oh. Hey Steph," Tim said faintly, looking vaguely confused. "Jay?"

Steph laughed wetly, and Jason shook his head with a slight grin. "Now that hurts our feelings. We've only been sitting with you for the past five days."

Tim's eyes widened slightly at the bit about his being out for five days. "Well y'u can't blame me," he mumbled. "I don't even know what happened."

Jason and Steph exchanged glances, while Tim's brow wrinkled, like he was thinking of something. Suddenly, he tensed slightly, grasped the rail of the bed as if he were going to try to get up.

"...Tim?" Todd asked, concerned.

"Where's Damian?" Drake asked, his voice as strained and unnaturally quiet as it had been the entire time, but especially tight with worry. "'s he alright? Did he..."

Guilt coiling in his stomach, Damian crept out from behind his father and stepped forward. Drake saw him, and he froze for a moment. Then the tension instantly eased, as he slowly slumped back down into a more relaxed posture on the bed.

"Hey, Dami," he grunted, and Damian blinked burning eyes, feeling relieved himself.

"Drake." He nodded demurely.

"You alr'ght? You didn't get hurt..?" Drake repeated, eyeing Damian up and down, searching him for injury.

Damian sputtered indignantly. "Did I get... _No,_ Drake, I was not injured when you threw me to the pavement and got shot in my stead."

Drake blinked, surprised at Damian's ferocity. "...Good." He said, nodding in satisfaction.

Damian didn't know how to respond to that, but he was spared from doing so when Father stepped forward to the bedside. Cain followed him, with a sideways look at Damian, and Damian hovered back near the door, uncertain of what to do. He felt quite uncomfortable. It was silly--after all this time of watching Drake and waiting, longing for him to wake up...now that he had, Damian had no idea how to respond. He stepped back further, turned to leave.

"Damian?"

Damian froze, glanced over his shoulder. Drake was looking at him--and so was _Father,_ Damian realized, blushing in embarrassment. "Could you...could you wait? A moment?" Drake shot a look up at Bruce, and Bruce nodded faintly, bending down and pressing a kiss to Drake's forehead, and then quietly leaving the room, ruffling Damian's hair on the way out.

Damian stood awkwardly, feeling incredibly vulnerable as he avoided meeting Drake's gaze. He glanced down at his shoe as he traced it on the floor...which was, of course, spotless under Pennyworth's care.

"...You're really okay?" Drake asked, concerned, and Damian looked up, confused. "Why do you keep asking?" Damian asked, some of the tension in his chest bleeding into his words.

Tim swallowed, cast his eyes down at the floor. "Because...well..." He huffed in frustration. "I wasn't sure if I made it in time. It's stupid, and I should have known better, but I-I was convinced that I hadn't been fast enough and you'd--" he blinked hard. "--you'd died again because I slacked off."

Damian stared. There it was, confirmed by Drake himself. His jaw dropped, but he resolutely closed his mouth again and ground his teeth.

"You _moron."_ He growled.

Drake's gaze snapped to him, startled. "What?"

Damian stalked closer to the gurney, righteous fury fueling him--but he skidded to a stop a few feet before the bed at the _look_ on Drake's face. It was faint, just a slight bit of habitual fear, in the way he squirmed back as if to try to get away. It reminded Damian of how tentative this all was, how one wrong move could ruin their newfound understanding. So he stopped, forced himself to breathe and think before speaking.

"You are not responsible for my death, Drake. You are not, nor is Father, or--" he gulped, "--or _Grayson_ , or Todd, or any of you. It is Mother's fault, and hers alone. I never blamed you for not saving me." He dropped his eyes. "It's not as if we were brothers, anyway, and that...that was my fault, for what I did to you." Guilt was a lump in his throat, and he couldn't speak.

After a beat of stunned silence, Drake said miserably, "It was mine, too. You _did_ change, and I didn't give you any credit. You were trying so hard to be better, and I wouldn't see it because I was too busy being bitter over all of it. You didn't deserve that, and especially not from me." He gave a weak cough.

"Drake," Damian tried to cut him off, worried about his injury, but Drake continued, "Dick was always so much better at it than I was. He took care of you and looked after you, as well as he always took care of me."

Damian was crying again, his heart hurting so much from missing Grayson that he couldn't speak even if he wanted to. Drake was crying, too, but he kept talking through his tears. "And...and now he's not here anymore, and I...I was so mad at him for _months_ over his giving Robin to you...we never really made up. The...the _least_ I can do is pick up the slack where I should have a long time ago, and, and protect you like I should have to begin with." Drake gave a choked sob. "I've been a terrible brother. I'm _sorry,_ Damian."

Damian closed the distance between them before he could think about it, dodged machinery and IVs and carefully wrapped his arms around Drake on his good side, hugging him tightly. "I'm sorry, too, Drake. We shall have to try and do better together."

After a long, stunned moment, Drake's good arm wrapped around Damian's back, holding on.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. Idk. I'm on tumblr: http://autumnhobbit.tumblr.com/


End file.
